


No. 1 With A Bullet

by 51stCenturyFox



Series: Jukebox Heroes [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, kinkmeme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/51stCenturyFox/pseuds/51stCenturyFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rock and roll...it's rebellion against the status quo. You kinda skipped the rebellious decades." </p><p>"Sounds angry," Steve almost shouts.</p><p>"One man's rage is another man's passion, Ripped Van Winkle."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No. 1 With A Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on avengerkink: Steve/Tony + AC/DC +sex

Steve can feel Tony Stark's eyes on him as he feints left, jabs, feints right, dodges, and finally just grunts and kicks the bag almost as hard as he can. Into the far wall. It makes its impact, bursts, then slides down the cinderblock wall to the floor with a satisfying but somewhat anticlimatic thud.

He pulls off his sweaty t-shirt and glances over his shoulder. Tony gives him a double thumbs-up.

"Am I distracting you?" Steve asks, slightly breathless and sincerely sorry about the noise, but Tony's focus is on the laser torch again as sparks fly from whatever suit part he's working on; it looks like a piece of leg armor. Shrugging, Steve batters a speed bag, holding back as the chain hook clanks against its housing, the raucous rattle echoing off the walls of the underground gym, which had become a sort of all-purpose hangout. It's a good place to beat the stuffing out of anything; the solid earth surround reduces the impact of the team honing their skills; after all, the streets under Stark Tower have seen enough abuse lately without random Everlast bags and throngs of titanium arrows raining down on dog walkers and people going to work.

Steve pulls off his fingerless leather gloves and pulls up a stool across the workbench. "What are you up to?" he asks Tony, but is ignored. "Hey. Hey Tony," Steve says, and then registers the plugs in Tony's ears. He waves a hand over his own ear and gestures, and Tony yanks out one of the devices.

"No wonder the racket doesn't bother you. What are those, mufflers?"

Tony grins and pulls out the other, then points to a small box on the workbench. "Remote Bluetooth earbuds." He pushes a button and a lusty scream fills the air, followed by a metal guitar riff.

Steve can't help rearing back a little and wincing. He gestures at Tony to lower the volume. "I'm really not into that kind of music."

Tony adjusts the sound to a reasonable roar and scrabbles for some Red Hots from the box on the bench, popping them into his mouth. "That's right, old man. I forgot you probably listen to ditties about Doris waiting under the apple tree for Johnny to come back from Casablanca."

"That's not fair. I like new stuff, like the music Pepper listens to."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Classic rock is my lyrical drug of choice," he declares, running a hand over his chin.

"You can't even dance to that."

"What, the Lindy Hop?" Tony scoffs. He turns the music up, sings along.

_I got nine lives  
Cat's eyes  
Usin' every one of them and running wild_

"Sure you can. You can work out to it, do equations, get revved, build shit." He gestures at the armor and squints up at Steve. "It's the best."

Steve snorts, and suddenly Tony is on his side of the workbench.

"C'mon," Tony says, with a tug at his elbow.

"What?" 

Tony angles his neck to the side, _c'mon_ and tugs again, and then his hands are wrapped around Steve's biceps and he wants to _dance_ with him. Steve stops in his tracks and Tony grunts. "Jesus, it's like trying to shift a redwood. _Move_."

Steve moves, seeking the beat.

_Back in the back  
Of a Cadillac  
Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack _

Tell me again you can't detect a rhythm, Captain Two-Left-Feet."

Steve pulls back, because now that's personal and dammit, he's hitting the beat just fine and he's a very good dancer - smooth, even. He just doesn't know where to put his hands, here. Or his feet. It's not like he's ever cut a rug to this kind of stuff, or with another guy. Tony grips his waist and Steve lets his hands fall lightly on Tony's shoulders.

"Rock and roll, see, there are no predetermined steps. It's all raw feeling," Tony leans forward and says in his ear. The guitar riff glides to a crescendo and Tony slides his hips down and upward to the beat, gives a filthy thrust against Steve's thigh. "It's rebellion against the status quo. You kinda skipped the rebellious decades." 

"Sounds angry," Steve almost shouts.

"One man's rage is another man's passion, Ripped Van Winkle." Steve can feel something nudge against the back of his ankle, turns his head a little and Tony knocks him off-balance, down onto Natasha's squeaky gymnastics mat. "See, dancing to rock n' roll," Tony huffs, sliding above him, arc reactor glowing through his undershirt, "is not an end in itself anyway. It's a means to an end, which is doing what you feel."

Steve could easily toss Tony off, but he doesn't; he lets Tony yank his forearms upward on the mat like he's a rag doll. "It is?" Tony's breath is hot and smells like cinnamon candy; his face is that close.

"Yeah. Dancing leads to getting lucky, if you're lucky." Tony settles himself down over Steve's hips, lets his arms go, but Steve just leaves them up; they feel like lead all of a sudden, as Tony's fingertips drag down over his bare chest. "And I'm pretty lucky."

"Huh," is all Steve can say.

"Think of all the concert tours, the drug-fueled parties, television sets in the pool, hotel rooms trashed, the groupies, the plaster casters, the _iniquity_ ," Tony murmurs, leaning forward, and Steve doesn't know half of what he's talking about about but gets the gist, remembers the girls clamoring outside the stage at the USO shows for autographs, holding their breath and posing pretty, lace bras edging up beneath those sweetheart necklines, batting their lashes, shiny red lipstick...

Now Tony's sitting up, flexing his thighs, grinding against his dick in a circle _he's panting below him and hard as a rock, and that's embarrassing, because what's Tony trying to prove?_

Tony rolls off to the side, mercifully, but slides his face against Steve's chest, nips a nipple as his hand steals slowly beneath his waistband, against his flesh. Steve gasps and Tony raises an eyebrow. "Oho, Rambo goes commando. You know, guitar solos, the really good ones, are true artistry. Fingering the chords that fast..." 

"Yeah," Steve breathes as his gaze flips to the far end of the room.

"Relax, door's locked,"

 _I'm back in black!_ the singer screams emphatically.

"That's not what I-" Steve replies as Tony yanks down his sweatpants, and staring into his eyes, slowly licks the palm of his hand and wraps it around him, and he doesn't care if anybody walks in right then anyway. "Oh my gosh," Steve whispers.

"Golly gee willikers," Tony says with an evil smirk, and dips his head, fastens his mouth around his cock and it's, oh, it's warm, wet velvet, lips and tongue stroking to the beat. Steve can't help it; he slides his fingers into Tony's hair and pulls as Tony hums around him.

_Baaaack, I'm baaaack  
Baaaack, I'm baaaack _

And Steve can't quite believe it, that a couple of minutes ago he was punching bags in the corner and now Tony Stark is blowing him, and he's actually starting to enjoy this...heavy classic metal rock or whatever you call it. He tries to hold off, lets the music flow through him till it fades and another song takes its place. Tony switches up his rhythm to match it, his hand working the base of his dick, and Steve whines, gripping Tony's shoulders to keep from grabbing his head and pounding-

Steve hears the rush of blood in his ears, feels Tony's hand tighten on his hip and arches his back. "Oh, I'm gonna-" he warns, but Tony doesn't pull away like he expects, just holds tighter, sucks _harder,_ and Steve just falls back, lets go, feels Tony swallow around him. He moans, fist slamming into the mat so hard he leaves dents.

"Natasha's going to be pissed off if you ruin her mat, Cap," Tony says, breathless but matter-of-fact, sliding up alongside him. 

Steve throws an arm over his face, recovering, hiding his eyes. He's not sure what to say, but Tony's pulling back his arm and kissing him with that smart aleck genius mouth of his and he's relieved that he doesn't have to come up with something witty or thankful or whatever. He just kisses Tony back as the guitars grind on, because he feels like it.

_Yeah, you, shook me all night long._

(Rock & Roll) Part II is here: [Love Me 2 Times](http://archiveofourown.org/works/401920)


End file.
